Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty-Five

On his best day, Connor would have had trouble with the wall. It was almost completely vertical, close to a ninety degree angle. There weren’t a lot of good grips for fingers and almost none of those were good for toes.

And he was tired—tired and sore and hurt.

But a quick glance over his shoulder told him what he needed to know: The team was making a run for it.

Below him, wicked claws scraped against the reddish-gray rock. Sections peeled away and clattered down on other lizards.

Those lizards still came, rancid breath blowing their foul stench up at him.

At least he was out of the sun, mostly protected from its glare. Strength remained in his fingers and arms, even if his back ached from hauling Martienne’s unconscious form around the night before.

One of the things caught the heel of his boot and tugged.

Connor dragged the creature up with the strength of his arms, then dropped, but the thing held on.